


Like New Times

by weatherby



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-09
Updated: 2009-12-09
Packaged: 2017-10-04 07:08:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatherby/pseuds/weatherby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor always knew exactly what Jasmine looked like.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like New Times

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place during 4.19/The Magic Bullet.

Connor and Angel spent thirty minutes writing their Jasmine song, and Angel wrote most of it. Connor added the Jasmines. In the end they wished they'd done something bigger and better, but when they sang it for her in her room, Jasmine said that it was perfect. They spent the rest of the afternoon talking about how giving she was, for calling their pitiful gift perfect. Next time, they will do something better.

Fred is one of the only bad things to come out of this.

Connor hates Fred, feels it aching in his bones like he has just spent eight days chasing a Srevir in Quor-Toth. He tries to love her as much as Jasmine does, but this effort combined with his strong fuel of hatred only serves to make him tired. He sits in the garden outside the Hyperion, picking dead skin from his hands. Smooth, white circles of dead skin, peeling them across his palm and pretending that it is Fred's face he is ripping off. He knows that Jasmine can feel that he is doing this, can feel all of his hatred, just as he can feel that there are two boys on the other side of the gate and that one of them was studying to be a doctor before Jasmine. She has said nothing, though, so he does not worry. Anyway, when he worries, Jasmine tells him not to. So he doesn't.

The other bad thing to come out of this is Angel's yellow shirt.

"Connor."

He smiles, feels Jasmine smiling behind him. She walks to the edge of the stoop and stands beside him.

"The world is so beautiful," she says. "This garden is full of blooming beauty."

"I thought you were resting," he says, not wanting her to exhaust her energy on him when she should be saving it.

"I was," she says. "I will rest again before the evening is through. Was your song a success?"

"Yeah, it was great," Connor says. "We had great inspiration," he adds dreamily.

She sits, and for a moment he is horrified at the idea of her sitting on the stoop and dirtying her clothes. He can feel that she doesn't mind, though, so he relaxes. It is a quiet evening, though open mic night continues in the lobby.

"You're troubled," she says, her voice soothing. "Your father. Angel. It wears on you."

There is no point in lying to her, but he does anyway. "He doesn't really wear bright colours. It was weird."

She laughs, a tinkling, mellifluous sound that reminds Connor of the imaginary mother he never had. In Quor-toth, he liked to create a mother, one who wasn't a vampire and didn't die to get away from him. His fake mother was human and she died when he was small, but not before he was old enough to remember the sound of her laughter, remember when they sat talking together. He smiles again, and a maggot crawls into the hole where Jasmine's right eye should be.

"That isn't what I meant," she says. "You don't want to talk about it. I understand your reservations, Connor, but your sadness worries me. I do not like to see your happiness dulled in any way."

"I'm happy. It's like I woke up from some horrible dream."

"The nightmare is over."

Connor closes his eyes and simply enjoys absorbing the moment of sitting with Jasmine. Even the air feels lighter than it ever has in this dimension. He cannot believe that he was ever worried over the idea of having a daughter or sacrificing one foolish girl to get her. He wishes that he could tell Cordelia that he is sorry, but hopes that she just knows.

"Angel is coming," Jasmine says.

Sure enough, Angel appears, hanging in the shadows under the roof. Connor does not have to turn around to see this.

"I thought you were resting," Angel says, his voice filled with something that resembles deep concern, in as much as Angel's voice can fill with anything. "Is something wrong? Do you need anything? Water? Visitors? A new skirt? We can get you a new skirt if that one's dirty."

"I'm fine, Angel," Jasmine laughs. "I was just telling Connor how beautiful the world is."

"That it is," Angel says with a broad grin. Connor rolls his eyes and smiles in spite of himself. "So . . . beautiful, and . . . stuff."

Jasmine laughs again. Connor hopes she'll never stop. "I think I'll leave you to contemplate that. I should continue my rest." She stands and a maggot falls to the ground next to Connor's hand. He scoops it up with his pinky and lightly runs his other index finger over it. It is as beautiful as she is.

"Hey, Connor," Angel says, when Jasmine is gone.

"Hey, Dad."

"Beautiful world, isn't it?"

"The best." He drops the maggot back to the ground.

"Hey, do you want to get some dinner?"

Connor turns around. "You don't eat."

Angel grins goofily. "Doesn't mean I can't make something for my son!"

Connor eyes him in amusement. "Is it going to be blood?"

"Blood!" Angel laughs. "Blood, why would it -- just because I -- maybe I should take you out instead."

"That would probably be better." Connor stands and brushes off his trousers. "So, where do you want to go?"

"You pick."

Connor moves into the shadows with Angel, their grins matching. "I've never had my own pizza."

"You got it." Angel slips an arm around him. He has changed into a neatly pressed pink shirt, like a glaring neon sign reminding everyone that he is doing nothing that he really wants to. That he would never act like this under normal circumstances. "I should have taken you out for pizza sooner. I don't know what we were thinking before Jasmine came."

"No," Connor says with a smile. "Neither do I, Dad."


End file.
